It turned out, that not many Brinn hunters wanted to abandon the looting of Datrea to go on a suicide mission with their unpopular prince.
A dozen hunters lined up as dozens of laborers scurried around them, frantically packing. The Prince found the sight profoundly depressing.
“I had hoped for at least 50,” he muttered to Jaetheiri.
“I had hoped for 10,” she replied wryly. “With Nisari, your guards, and yourself, we’ve reached 19!”
“Are you saying I should be grateful?” he hissed. “Our number is half the number of arcanists we are hunting!”
I was confused. I noted dozens more carrying provisions and rations in a train of servants that could make for a pretty impressive warband if provided the weaponry.
Why did they not count?
Somehow, they didn’t. Now that I thought about it, the whole Brinn camp seemed divided. There were the blackscale-armored warfang-wielding hunters that had invaded my city and there was everyone else, who wore leathers and notably no weapons.
That appeared to be a significant distinction.
It must be, for most of them looked Brinn in every other respect, and yet, Yethyr wasn’t counting them at all.
He was also not counting Wes even though he was standing right beside him…oh.
They were thralls, not corpse thralls like Wes, but living ones. What the Datreans on the other side of camp would become. That explained why Yethyr had not mentioned them volunteering. None of them had volunteered to go on this journey at all.
It made me uncomfortable. My thoughts were fixed on the fate of the Datreans I had left behind. What other things would they be drawn into that they would “not be volunteering for?”
Yethyr approached the twelve hunters. “Greetings. You know who I am and you know our glorious purpose mandated by the King and Maethe. This is an opportunity to distinguish yourself among the Host of Heaven. Whatever happens, your names shall be known to the angels.”
Some looked hopeful, some looked doubtful, but most kept their expressions carefully blank. I then noted, much to my amusement, that I recognized one. The random hunter that had first brought Yethyr to my father’s forge. The one the Prince had ordered on several errands without ever learning his name. He still didn't know his name!
That amused me and perhaps Yethyr sensed my opinion because he suddenly added, “however, before all that, your names must be known to me.” Yethyr stood before the first Brinn in the line.
“What is your name, hunter?”
“Tular, my prince.”
“And your notch code?”
“264355601.”
It said much about the way Yethyr’s mind worked, that I felt him actually memorize the number. “And who’s party do you leave to join this one?”
“Shumari’s Hunting Party, my prince.”
“And why do you go on this hunt?”
“For Maethe’s glory,” he said confidently.
Yethyr stepped over to the next one. “And you?”
“Kvelir. Notch code 337742832. Teshir’s Hunting Party
“And why do you join this hunt?”
“For Maethe’s glory,” he echoed hollowly.
The third hunter, a young eager woman did not even wait to be asked.
“Dathari of Wunir’s Hunting Party. Notch code 654564738. I submit myself to your hunt for Maethe’s glory.”
Yethyr looked to the fourth hunter and he said, with a notable lack of enthusiasm, “Dethur of Wunir’s Hunting Party. Notch Code 654564737. For Maethe’s glory and all that.”
Yethyr looked between him and the girl. “Your notch codes are nearly identical.”
“Dathari is my sister.” Dethur scowled as if that were an unfortunate fact while Dathari just smiled cheerfully. Despite their expressions, they did look remarkably similar.
Yethyr arched his eyebrow but decided to move on. Down the line he went, collecting names, numbers, and words of support both impassioned and empty.
He reached the seventh man.
“Yorir, my prince.” He gripped his warfang impatiently.
“Your notch code?”
“520610027.
“Your former party?”
“Lumir.”
“And why do you go on this hunt?”
“For my Tezem.”
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
On the last syllable, the man drew his warfang and swung at Yethyr’s head.
There was a single moment to react. Yethyr could only act on instinct. His natural instinct would be to draw on deathsong and command him to die.
I tried to supersede it. He would never use me if he had the time to think, and if he never used me, my hold over him would never grow. The opportunity I was waiting for was now.
If I could push the instinct to wield me instead of deathsong into his rapid river of thoughts, just ahead of his natural inclinations…
Yethyr put his hand on my hilt at the same time as he opened his mouth-two warring survival instincts being acted upon at the same time.
No! I had to be faster. I had to be faster than it took for a single syllable to pass his lips.
I urged Yethyr’s muscles to go beyond their natural limits. I urged him to use me. I didn’t care that he would sense my will behind it. Yethyr thought me ravenous already. He would gain no new knowledge from my desperation. All that mattered was to command his body before he could command his assassin to die.
“Di—
Draw.
Yethyr’s hand moved faster than it had ever before, faster than I had ever made anybody move before. Yorir’s head was rolling on the grass, his memories gushing into me before Yethyr had even processed his victory.
And his loss.
He felt that loss. He felt it as another link was forged in the chain between us.
I felt glee. I had won this round in our duel of wills. It was a small battle, a single strike, quicker than a word, but Yethyr understood that even in this small way, I had beaten him. And in this grueling war of attrition between the Prince and myself, I would take my small victories.
Yethyr panted for breath, a foiled assassination attempt at his feet. He tugged at the mental chain between us that would not break and snarled like a trapped animal.
He was being attacked from within and without. He was frantic; he was furious. “If anyone else is here to assassinate me, do speak up! Challenge me honorably! We are the Host of Maethe. Let us at least act like it.”
None of the men spoke. None of them even looked at Yethyr. Their eyes were all fixed up on the quick expert work that their frail feeble prince had made.
Blood dripped from my white blade.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
And with each drip, more and more people looked at me and not the corpse I had made. They all looked at me in awe. They all looked at me with desire.
Yethyr jutted out his chin and glared at the next man in line. “What’s your name?” he demanded stubbornly.
The man looked at the Prince with new wariness and new awe. “Hegrir, my prince. Notch Code 773487543. Of Numar’s hunting party.”
“And why do you join this hunt?”
Hegrir opened his mouth and then hesitated. “For Maethe’s glory,” he said slowly, “and yours.”
The joy that such a sentiment awoke in Yethyr was heady. It made his wrath and fear vanish as soon as it had come.
And down the line he went. Yethyr learned the name of that random hunter at last, Kettir, but he lingered on no one and I soon realized why.
Yethyr was rushing through these introductions. He didn’t want it to seem like he was, but when he had at last learned the (now eleven) names of his volunteers, he dismissed them and practically sprinted to find a log to sit down and wrap me in bandages again.
I had cut through his last batch taking Yorir’s head and now everyone could see my naked blade.
Yethyr did not know my curse. But he understood it enough to know the way every passing thrall was looking at me was a problem.
A problem for him at least, an opportunity for me.
I intended to cause mayhem on this trip. I was not sure what the ideal strategy for causing mayhem actually was, but inflicting as many Brinn as possible with the poison of my allure was definitely a good place to start.
“I thought you said not to use the sword,” Jaetheiri said as a way of greeting.
“I didn’t have time to hold it back. Bloodthirsty thing.”
I wanted to huff. I wasn’t the one between the two of us who sucked an entire city dry.
“You should really find a proper sheathe for that thing,” Jaetheiri was saying.
“I know, but no warfang sheath would fit it. It would need to be custom-made.”
“Vos?”
“I would not trust him to touch it. I fear I am growing short on trust at the present.” He looked back at Yorir’s decapitated body. “Strange. What did that hunter hope to gain by such madness without formal challenge.”
“I heard talk that his Tezem got caught up in your Death Circle.”
“Ah.” Yethyr grimaced. “Still, I would have appreciated the courtesy of a formal challenge.”
“No doubt he figured I would stand for you,” Jaetheiri scowled. “I should have stood for you.”
“He drew fast. It is hardly your fault.”
Jaetheiri huffed.
They were soon joined by a hunch-backed old man wrapped in gray furs. He hobbled more than he walked, weighed down by scroll up on scroll of vellum paper.
Mandorias, I think his name was?
I vaguely remembered among the slew of people Yethyr met half asleep. He struck me as some sort of scholar. He did not appear to be Brinn. His eyes were as green as emerald and he spoke the language with a halting accent.
“My master,” he said. “I have consulted the cartographer and duplicated several maps, as requested.”
“Excellent. Do you have an opinion?”
“I have charted several potential routes. The best in my mind is to head directly to the river and follow it straight to the Numa Mountains. It would undoubtedly be the quickest.”
Yethyr nodded. “I find your logic sound.”
“It..would require a boat.”
Yethyr nodded again. “Is there a riverside town down where we might acquire one?”
“Yes. Flazea.”
“Then we shall head there first. Inform Arsari that her services may be required. Just in case we resort to bargaining.”
“Of course.”
“When should we expect to see it?”
“At a steady pace, I’d estimate tomorrow morning.” Mandorias tugged at his wispy white hair. “We could push it, but I recommend making camp at nightfall. It is not wise to stay on the open field after dark, especially not so close to Datrea.”
“I agree.” Yethyr returned my now-wrapped blade to his belt and stood. “Let us use the light we do have then.”
He commanded everyone to break camp and so they did. It was a great host of Brinn, a long train of men, and I felt the eyes of them all.
They all had seen me. 18 hunters. Many more thralls. All surrounding Yethyr, from all sides. All stealing furtive glances towards him and what hung on his belt.
All wanting me.
This was going to be an eventful trip.
Thank you so much for reading! I really appreciate all the support I have gotten during the transition to move this story to Royal Road. Do tell me what you think! I love comments and often respond to them
I will be posting a chapter every day until July 30, 2025. Make sure to follow the story and come back to read more!
Who is going to win?
